


New century

by GarGoyl



Series: BringBackHetalia Prompts&One-shots [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1700s, Action/Adventure, Crack, Humor, M/M, New Year's Eve, Pirates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 15:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19321351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarGoyl/pseuds/GarGoyl
Summary: On the Eve of the new century, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo has a bit of a bad night





	New century

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lluviadinoche](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lluviadinoche/gifts).



> Hello everyone! So… I couldn’t help it (maybe I should stop drinking tequila sometime soon) and, since my drunken muses came up with yet another plot for lluviadinoche’s Tumblr SpaMano week, I decided to indulge them. Yesterday’s prompt was 1700s and well, Wikipedia says that the Golden Age of piracy was 1650 – 1720. I did my homework, heh. Enjoy!
> 
> Main music theme: Run Londinium - Daniel Pemberton (King Arthur Soundtrack)

“Well lads, on this New Year’s Eve night, before we set sail anew, I am treating you all at Francesco ‘Rome’ Vargas’s Italian tavern. Best food, best booze and…. the prettiest whores, of course!” the captain announces, met with loud cheers.

It’s been a good month, rich in loot and in the light of recent events, this New Year’s Eve – which marks the beginning of the new, eighteenth century - calls for a special celebration. The harbor is full, many other crews seeking a well-deserved, long awaited break from their toil at sea in this blessed city of pleasures and this might very well spell trouble, but not even the sight of the infamous red-stained Jolly Roger of Captain Arthur Kirkland could dampen Antonio’s spirits as he set foot on the shore, a week ago, donning fancy new clothes and a crimson coral necklace around his neck.

The days before New Year were well spent doing business, selling the cargo to the city’s merchants, but the last day is thankfully off for the whole crew. The tavern looks packed, but the crew manages to squeeze in around a long wooden table inside the large, decorated and fire-lit patio.  Instantly, several men begin banging their fists against the worn top and yell, waiting to be served.

Antonio is very young, still green as the others say, but he’s gladly embraced this wretched pirate life, taking everything in stride, and now with his purse full, the pistol tucked inside his belt and the rapier hanging proudly at his hip, even if he’s all but pushed into a corner, he feels like a god. His ebony curls tied back with a red silk ribbon and frilly white shirt open at the neck, taunting against bronze skin draw more than a few bold glances from the girls sauntering graciously among the tables, carrying trays or just ready to slip into patrons laps if invited, but he answers all with vague, uncertain smiles.

The night is young; he doesn’t have to decide now.

“Remember, lads,” the captain warns, “This place may look like paradise, but it’s crawling with thieves. Watch your purses, because everyone around here has _very_ long fingers. I believe a few of you know that well from last time we were here.”

The men laugh and Antonio with them. It’s his first time in this city and he still takes in everything with wonder-filled eyes and tonight, in the middle of cheer, music and laughter, it seems that nothing could go wrong. Soon food comes, along with delicious, ruby-colored wine and ambery rum.  A pleasant torpor settles in, then someone pushes a guitar in the brunet’s hands, asking for a song and he indulges them with a few stanzas from his native Andalucía, fingers gently caressing the chords.

Several girls come at their table with large smiles and teasing words, a voluptuous blonde sitting on the young pirate’s knee. She asks his name and her eyes are as blue as the skies of spring, but Antonio mostly plays indifferent to tease her back. He’s no easy prey. To this purpose, he lets his gaze wander around the patio, eventually settling on the counter in the back, behind which a teenage boy is busy sharpening a kitchen knife. And then something captures the Spaniard’s attention, be it the scowling, doll-like beauty of his features, or the skillful way the wet stone is driven along the gleaming blade by long, elegant fingers.

“Who is that?” he asks, guessing that the boy is no ordinary servant of the household.

“That’s _master_ Lovino Vargas,” the blonde says, a bit spiteful. “I would steer clear from his path if I were you.”

Antonio laughs at this, judging by his expression the young Vargas may very well be a tantrum-prone fellow, but otherwise he looks quite harmless.

“Well, let it be known that I fear no one!” he declares loudly, taking a large gulp of his wine glass. “As these men stand witness, I’ve singlehandedly slain three ruffians only last month! Also, I fear no thieves, as many as may be lurking around, for no one’s fingers are too fast for me. And I’ll be sure to cut them clean off, before I slit the man’s throat too!”

The captain and his mates laugh and cheer in turn, emptying their glasses and making a fuss for another round, he’s asked to play and sing some more, and so he never notices the girl slipping away from their table and making her way across the patio, to where a certain young Italian still sharpens the knife.  He never sees words being passed between them, or the large, hazel eyes trained on him with a secret spark of challenge.

* * *

 

When it happens, it’s well past midnight, and it’s Antonio’s intuition more than his senses alerting him that something is suddenly amiss. All he needs afterwards is a quick inspection – his purse is gone! In an instant he’s on his feet, glancing around bewildered, right in time to spot a black-clad figure walking away from their table.

“OY! GET BACK HERE, YOU THIEF!”

Predictably, no one pays any attention to his yelling or does anything to help, but the suspect half-turns to peek in his direction, gracing him with a curious glance for a split second. Still, all the Spaniard can see is that their face under the small, nondescript hat is covered up to the nose with a black scarf. Then they break into a sprint towards the exit.

Knocking down his chair, Antonio lunges forward in pursuit, his body moving out of instinct and ignoring the wave of dizziness as he does so. People are in his way, but the brunet pushes through, sobering enough by the time he finds himself out in the crowded street and barely getting to see the thief turning a corner.

Gritting his teeth, the Spaniard runs after him, shoving by-passers out of his way. He’s strong and fast and this helps him close the distance a bit, but the thief is faster on his feet unlike other opponent he’s had until now. They’re small and slender, making their way through with ease – it’s probably a young boy, these make the best thieves, at any rate he doubts it’s one of Vargas’s girls. Then something finally dawns on him and he understands the blonde’s warning, a little too late.      

Further ahead, the boy ducks under a rag curtain, disappearing from view. Antonio follows into a large, empty yard, only to be greeted by loud barks – two mastiffs lunge at him from a corner, just as he sees the thief dashing up some stairs, towards a side door.

“OY! STOP!” the pirate yells, undeterred and sprinting towards the stairs fortunately faster than the dogs can reach, dodging the barrel the other shoves his way.  

The boy throws the door open and disappears inside, slamming it forcefully, but fortunately doesn’t get to lock it. The brunet rushes in, only to be suddenly blinded by the bright lights inside. The door opens into the hall of a crowded pub and he hastily steps down among the patrons, where a nasty surprise awaits him.

At one of the tables near the center of the hall, a certain very familiar blond is enjoying a pint, boots up on the table and his chair half-tilted precariously, but guns at the ready. _Arthur Kirkland_. The infamous English captain is surrounded by his crew and despite the animated crowd his eyes are on Antonio the moment the latter barges in, panting.

_“Carajo…”_

His hand goes instinctively down to feel the handle of his rapier, but he couldn’t take all of them on even if he wanted to. The English are too many and don’t look drunk enough either. Forget the thief, if they decide to pick on him, he’s fucked with capital F. He’s still standing there, uncertain and wide-eyed, not knowing what to do (probably running would be best?) as Arthur gives him an open and thoughtful once-over, then the blond points something with his free hand.

Antonio freezes, at first thinking that Kirkland is signaling his men, but the other’s finger is not directed at him, but at the bar. It’s showing him something and sure enough, he spots a small figure with their back turned, perched upon a tall stool. The boy’s hat and jacket are gone, but the tell-tale black scarf still adorns his neck.

Danger seemingly gone, the Spaniard cracks his fingers in anticipation, making his way towards the bar with large strides. His arm shoots forward with deadly precision, his hand gripping the culprit’s shoulder.

“I got you now, _hijo de puta_! Give me back my-”

But while he expects the boy to freeze in panic, the small Italian twists in his grip with lightning speed and ducks under his arm, diving under the seats. This results in a couple of chairs knocked over and some spilled drinks as the pirate pursues, getting punched in the face in the process – but the little shit won’t escape him now!

Yet his attempts of capture are dodged with impressive ability and the boy heads up the stairs leading to the upper floor. There, Antonio manages to catch him by the back of his shirt - or thinks he does – before the thief whose face is covered once more turns around and violently shoves a boot in his chest.   

 _“MALDITO CABRÓN!!”_ the Spaniard screams, choking on his words as he tumbles down the steps tangled in his long coat and sword belt and the world turns upside down. Laughter breaks out all around him and even the boy pauses at the top of the stairs to admire his work.

As he finally gets up, teeth grit, Antonio can’t see the bastard’s smile, but his eyes shine with obvious mirth and provocation – he’s _enjoying_ this! Then he swiftly pulls back, disappearing behind a beaded curtain.

Behind it stretches a long, narrow corridor with doors on each side, but judging by the sounds coming from the rooms, it’s unlikely that the boy dared barge into any of them, risking angering the patrons. At the end of it there’s another door leading outside and Antonio rushes to it, catching sight of the bastard as he sprints across another yard, towards the gate at the end of it, no doubt intent on getting back out in the street.

The pirate curses, it’s unlikely that he’ll catch up now, but then notices that the Italian has unexpectedly run out of luck – the gate is locked and the stone fence too high for him to climb. He has nowhere to go, now he’s screwed.

Antonio can’t believe his luck, a smirk widening his mouth as he jogs over, easily dodging the bucket thrown his way before the boy suddenly decides climbing is worth the risk. And he almost reaches the top too, but the tell-tale click of the other’s drawn gun makes him freeze on the spot.

“Alright…” the Spaniard pants, struggling to catch his breath as he reaches the foot of the wall. He’s tired as fuck, but the hand holding the pistol doesn’t waver. “It’s over now, come on down.”

The boy hesitates for a moment, then jumps down with a cat’s ease, right over the pirate’s torso, knocking him off his feet and making the gun fly from his hand. Still, even violently pushed on his back and having the wind knocked out of him, Antonio manages to get a steady, iron grip on one of the thief’s arms, forcing the boy to straddle his waist and using the other to finally pull the black scarf off his face.

Above him, Lovino Vargas offers a teasing grin, even if he’s about to die. Because the Spaniard _will_ kill him, mark his words. The boy’s dirty shirt is half unbuttoned, smooth tanned skin underneath glistening with sweat.

“You’re good, _señor_ Carriedo, I’ll give you that.”

“ _Ay si_ … but you’re even better, _carajo_.”

Lovino’s grin widens at the compliment, and he leans towards the other’s equally smiling face, cupping the Spaniard’s jaw with his free hand surprisingly gently as slender thighs press into his sides. “Right you are, _Antonio_.”

Just as the faint echo, the soft caress of those words dies in the night’s breeze, the boy’s hand moves away from his face, lighting fast, and an empty rum bottle shows up out of nowhere. Before the taller brunet can even think of reacting, it makes violent contact with his skull and everything goes dark.

* * *

 

When Antonio wakes up next, the sun is up in the sky, sparkling golden into the waves, and the city is growing smaller and smaller into the distance. He sits up with a sigh, feeling the rag tied around his pounding head with cautious fingers. And so begins the new century – he’s poor and beaten, and most likely bound to be the laughing stock of his comrades for weeks to come.

_“Pues Lovinito, creo que tenemos una problema, querido…”_

Oh, he will have his revenge.

 


End file.
